The Brownstone: A collection of shorts, drabbles, catch-alls
by yarntastic
Summary: Random stories that come to me and are too short to be out all on their own, but aren't boring enough to stay hidden away. Everyone may be included in one way or another, everyone may not be. Rating may be subject to change some day, because who knows where my mind will wander.
1. Bucket List

_'No, that sounds stupid'_, Atlanta thought to herself as she crossed out the line of words she had written on the paper. She scribbled a few more words on the next line down, paused, and then crossed those out too. '_Ugh, that makes me sound so… so… girly'_. Nearly the whole page had been filled in, with each and every line promptly crossed out. She shook her head, but continued to put pen to paper in hopes something good would finally flow out.

"Since when did I become such a _hipster_? Ugh!" Atlanta finally spoke aloud, tossing the pen and notebook off to her side on the floor. Why did making such a simple list have to be so hard? Everybody in the world could do it; except for herself, apparently.

"You're not a hipster," the familiar voice answered from across the room, "because hipster girls kinda creep me out, and you don't creep me out. In that way, at least."

Atlanta turned her head toward the doorway behind her and smiled, seeing Archie standing there leaning against the frame.

Archie turned his attention to the notebook sprawled out on the floor and invited himself in. "Are you doing homework? On a Friday night?" He asked, reaching down to pick up the notebook.

"What? No I'm—Archie, don't!" Atlanta reached her arms out to try and stop the young man from reading her embarrassing and sorry excuse for a list, but she was too slow. "Give it! Give it back! ARCHIE!"

"You threw it on the ground," he smirked, now leaning against the back of Atlanta's wooden desk chair, keeping her from sliding it out.

"Come on! Give it back!" She did her best to ram the chair into Archie's back but it was no use. There was no denying that he was stronger than she was, and this was one of those rare occasions where he held it over her head and used his strength to his advantage.

"Let's see here," he ignored the girl's pleas and began flipping through the pages of the notebook. Chemistry notes, English notes, something in Theresa's handwriting, his own handwriting on multiple occasions. Finally he found the page, with all it's scratched out lines; they were still legible though, having only one neat line drawn through them. "What's this?" He playfully sneered as he turned towards the girl trapped behind him. A deep blush faded into her cheeks as his eyes returned to the page. He skimmed, before finally reading aloud, "_'drive down a one lane highway_'? '_Disneyworld_'? '_picnic on the beach with Archie_'? With me? Why am I in some of these? '_formal dance lessons_' – Atlanta, what the hell is this?!"

Archie finally stepped aside, releasing her from the desk. Now free, she snatched the notebook from his hands. "It's… it's a list." She retreated over to her bed where she sat, clutching the pad of paper to her chest, still blushing. She regretted ever sitting down to write the stupid thing.

"I can see that. But what kind of list is that? It doesn't even make any sense! What kind of list includes vacation things, and personal things, and other people, and… and… things! And other things!"

"It's… a bucket list," she muttered, looking down at her feet. "A sorry attempt at one anyway."

"A _what_?"

"A bucket list," she glanced up at him as he sat beside her on the bed. "You know, a list of things people want to do before they die. Then every time you do something on the list you can cross it off."

Archie raised an eyebrow at her as he spoke, "I know for a fact that you've never been on a road trip with me, because I've never gone on one with you."

Just as he cheeks had begun to return to their normal color, she felt the heat come back to them. He really did read most of the list. "I just suck at making a list. That's why it's all crossed out."

Archie stretched an arm out and across her back, resting his hand on her far shoulder. "You don't suck at it, not if that's stuff you really want to do."

"Shut up," she groaned, pushing him away. She did want to do that stuff, and other things. But it just felt so silly writing it down.

"Maybe I can help you really cross off some things your list," he offered.

Atlanta sighed. "See, this is why I never tried to make one of these. Now you're going to try and be all sappy and romantic just so I can cross something off."

"Well, I like to think I'm sappy and romantic in our relationship on a regular basis, even before this list, but I had something else in mind. I'll be right back." As Archie left the room, Atlanta opened the notebook back to the page with her bucket list. She scanned the page, trying to figure out which one Archie had in mind to help her out with.

"Here. It's a quick read, so you should be able to cross it off your list in no time. Then, until you rewrite your list, you'll have everything crossed off."

Atlanta looked up to a smiling Archie as he handed her a thin paperback book with a white and purple cover along with a strange picture of crying eyes and lips in the night sky over a bright city gracing the front. She accepted the book and he took his seat beside her once more. He really did read the list. The very last item on the page which she hadn't crossed out, and instead threw the notebook to the ground: 'Read _The Great Gatsby'_.

"There's some notes and highlighting in there from my class last year, but it's still readable." He paused, changing the subject out of curiosity. "Of all the books out there, why do you want to read _The Great Gatsby_?"

"It's a classic, I suppose. I mean, after all these years people still like it so there has to be something good about it."

Archie smirked. " '_It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._' "

"What?"

"Never mind. You'll see."

* * *

_This story was penned in loving memory of my junior year American Literature teacher who loved 'The Great Gatsby' with more passion than I've seen in many real relationships and has left this world far too soon, with so many souls she left untouched and to whom she will never pass on her love of TGG to. I'm sure she could have quoted the whole book cover-to-cover, she loved it that much (which was why I included Archie's little snippet from the book). I've been inspired to make my own bucket list after all this, and wanted to transpire that into the CoTT world (I tried to do this including the other characters but it just didn't work, maybe someday in the future I'll come back to this idea and include the others. AxA is my go-to comfort zone, obviously)._

_Rereading 'The Great Gatsby' is in my list (in her honor), along with many other 'I'd like to do that someday' things. Even this, doing a "short/drabble"-esque type of fanfic, which goes against my own set rules of only posting things that are 110% done. I'm boring, I know.~_

_What kind of fun/interesting things do want to do before you kick the bucket?_


	2. Plotting Ducks

"Ow," Atlanta hissed under her breath. She was never the kind to admit pain, but damn this hurt.

"Sorry," Archie's voice was calm and soothing as he worked on his patient, "but I have to dig out some of these gravel bits. I'm almost done."

Atlanta sat on the counter in the second floor bathroom as the young man stood in front of her, tweezers in hand, dutifully picking bits of rock and dirt out of her arm. It was Saturday afternoon, and the pair had been out at the park with their skateboards, enjoying the beautiful spring day. That was until Atlanta was forced to swerve at the last second in order to avoid a pair of ducks who were crossing the path the couple was skating on.

She winced as Archie dabbed a cotton ball laced with rubbing alcohol on her brow. Her crash landing had rewarded her with scrapes up her right arm and a good sized gash at the corner of her forehead on the same side. The ducks didn't even bother to linger and see if she was okay after she had taken the liberty to try and avoid them; they had flown off in a huff, quacking furiously about the rude human who interrupted their afternoon stroll. Archie, however, was at her side before even she was aware of what exactly had happened, sitting her up and pressing the sleeve of his sweatshirt to her bleeding head.

"Sorry," he muttered again, swapping the blood-tinged cotton ball for a piece of gauze which he taped in place over her wound. He softly kissed the bandage. "All better?"

Atlanta weakly smiled through the stinging that lingered from the alcohol, "a little." She watched as he repeated the process on her arm, the alcohol stinging just as hard in the little scrapes and grooves on her arm as it did her head. Looking up at Archie's face as he worked, she was sure she could see pain in his eyes as he dabbed her with the searing solution.

"I break your heart every time I get hurt, don't I?"

"Sort of," he glanced up from his work. "I mean, I certainly don't like seeing you get hurt. And I get the notion to strangle whatever it was that hurt you every time you get hurt. But then I remember you're tough and strong and if anyone is going to recover from whatever injury, it would be you. So it hurts a little less. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"I should have listened to you and went to Chiron," she sighed as Archie began to cover her arm in gauze and tape.

"I'd still be worried even if you did that. You just wouldn't see it. Besides, Chiron would do exactly what I just did but with magic waving hands and floaty tweezers." After securing the last piece of fabric, he wrapped his arms around the girl's shoulders and placed a kiss on her lips. "All better now?"

"All better." Atlanta smiled and rested the good side of her head on Archie's chest.

"Well, you've been a good patient. You want some ice cream? To really make everything all better?"

"Italian ice? From that place by the movie theater?"

"Whatever you want." Atlanta hopped off the counter and grabbed his hand, walking towards the door. "No skateboards though – we're walking. I'm not patching you up twice in one day. I don't think my heart could take it. And only Lampas knows what the hell those ducks are plotting next."

* * *

_This idea stems from a rather crazy (territorial, I suppose, if you want to be realistic) goose I come across every morning as I'm waiting for my manager to come open the doors to start the work day. He's attacked all our cars and chased most of us on one occasion or another, he's that crazy/territorial. I started thinking goose-realated injuries, then tripping and falling injuries, and snowballed from there to what you read above._

_Geese are creepy/stupid/a pain in the tush though, so I went with ducks, who also frequent the parking lot at my job. And who also get chased around by this crazy goose. And their waddles are super cute ~_

_ I can't wait for nesting season to be over._


End file.
